


Stars, Sex, and Babies

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Zeryn Brosca [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeryn Brosca’s stargazing at camp one night turns into some interesting conversations - Leliana tells a story about the stars and afterwards Zeryn and Alistair learn a few things about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars, Sex, and Babies

The night sky is one of Zeryn’s favorite things about living on the surface. When she had first stepped out the front gates of Orzammar with Duncan, her reaction hasn’t been too different from Oghren’s. The vastness of this new world was something no words could prepare her for. Here, there were no walls of stone to obscure her view, only miles and miles of mountains and stone and forest, and above that the wide-open sky. And the smell! It was sweet, pine and sap and earth, instead of stone and lyrium, dust and flame and the stench of so many dwarven bodies crammed into Dust Town. She had never smelled the like. But the sky…that was what had drawn Zeryn’s gaze, and kept it. She had gaped open-mouthed, head thrown back. It dizzied her, the sheer openness of the sky, like a great black void above her dotted with a million dazzling lights. She’d sunk to her knees to feel the reassurance of solid ground beneath her, felt like she might drift off at any moment and be lost forever amongst the stars like the children in the old-wives tales whispered around the hearth fire. She was exposed, vulnerable, a solitary figure clinging to the rim of the world. But she was not afraid. If anything, to be lost up there, in that infinite chasm of dark and light above her head, seemed like the sweetest demise she could imagine. She had never felt more free.

The way the sky brightens in the morning is not something Zeryn ever gets accustomed to. She wakes each day before the dawn, as the sky is just starting to turn gray, and watches the sunrise. Often, she forgets to listen to the conversations around her and instead just stares at the sky. She pretends not to, of course, but no one is fooled.

One night at camp, Zeryn sits on the ground by the fire, back to a log, and stargazes. The rest of the party goes on around her, but she is still for so long that finally Leliana comes and sits on the log beside her.

“The stars are out,” Leliana observes simply.

Zeryn hums and nods. She smiles, just a small quirk of her lips really.

“There is much beauty to be found on the surface, even in the face of this Blight,” Zeryn says. Leliana puts a hand on her shoulder, and Zeryn twitches slightly, but doesn’t protest.

“It comforts me to know that the stars will remain untouched by the Blight. That, whatever happens down here, they will shine eternally, their light undimmed,” Leliana says.

“They are lovely, I have to agree.” Zeryn tips her head back and sighs. “There is a…constancy, about the stars. Beautiful, just out of reach perhaps, but there is something soothing about their constant presence in the night sky. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at them. It’s strange, actually… most of my people are afraid of the sky.”

“Afraid of the sky?” Leliana laughs lightly.

“There are stories – superstitions really – of dwarfs who came to the surface and fell into the sky to be lost forever. But then, a dwarf loses their caste just by coming here. It’s not a surprise that stories would spring up discouraging young dwarfs from leaving Orzammar.” Zeryn pauses, plucks at the grass at her side. “They say surfacers lose their stone sense, after a time. I wonder if that part might actually be true.”

“Does that bother you?” Leliana asks.

“It shouldn’t,” Zeryn says. “I don’t have any desire to go back. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. And I like the surface.” She smiles crookedly and raises her fingers as if to caress the stars themselves. “You’d think anyone who saw that would want to stay. It’s beautiful.”

“Humans have stories about the stars too, many of them. Do you see that cluster of stars over there?” Leliana points and Zeryn follows the motion with her eyes, nodding. “There is a story about those stars. Alindra and her soldier. Do you know it?”

“I can’t say I’ve heard it. Can’t say I’ve heard any human stories about the stars, really,” Zeryn says.

Leliana shifts into a more comfortable position and Zeryn turns, wedging her shoulder against the log so she can watch and listen. 

“A long time ago,” Leliana starts, “there lived a fair maiden called Alindra. She had many suitors, but spurned them all, for she did not love them. One day, Alindra was sitting by her window in her father’s castle, singing and dreaming, when her lovely voice caught the attention of a young soldier. Entranced by her song, the soldier drew near to Alindra’s window. As their eyes met, he fell in love with her, and she with him. When Alindra told her father about the man she had chosen, he was furious, for Alindra was high-born, but her love nothing more than a common soldier.”

“A common enough theme, even among my people – the thwarted lovers from different castes who only want to be together, and the disapproving families,” Zeryn says.

“But that does not mean it is not a good story, no?” Leliana smiles at her before she continues, “To keep them apart, her father had Alindra imprisoned in the highest tower of his castle and sent her soldier to the wars.”

“Wait, he did what? What kind of father locks his daughter up in a tower? That’s barbaric!” Zeryn protests. Across the fire, Alistair sits down.

“An unkind one, certainly,” Leliana says. “And alas, not a month had passed before news of the soldier’s death reached Alindra. Alone in her tower, Alindra wept for her love and beseeched the gods to deliver her from this cruel world.”

Zeryn crosses her arms over her chest and frowns faintly, her attention focused on Leliana. Alistair watches the pair of them.

“So earnest was her plea that the gods themselves were moved. They gathered Alindra into their arms and lifted her high into the heavens, where she became a star. The gods also raised up the soul of Alindra’s soldier love and there he dwells, across the horizon from her. The band of stars between them is a river of Alindra’s tears, cried for her lost love. They say that when Alindra has cried enough, she will be able to cross the river to be reunited with her soldier,” Leliana finishes with a smile.

“So let me get this straight,” Zeryn says, drumming her fingers along her arm. “Not only did this Alindra let her father lock her in a tower and separate her from her love, she also did nothing but wish for death when she got the news that he was dead?”

“She did not have a lot of choice in the matter,” Leliana says.

“She could have fought back! She could have run away! Or she could have joined the army to be with him. Just because someone else tells you no doesn’t mean you should abandon all chance at happiness. Beards of the Paragons, since when has happiness ever been something that comes free?” Zeryn sits up, scowling, and is surprised by the vehemence in her own voice.

“But the end is a happy one, regardless. The bond of love between Alindra and her soldier was so strong that the gods themselves took notice.”

Zeryn’s head snaps to the side as she stares at Leliana. “You call that a happy ending? They are still separated. By a _river of tears_. How is that in any way happy?”

“But they will be together eventually, when the time is right,” Leliana protests. “This story is one of my favorites, a tale of love so great and so enduring that it defies death, and moves the gods to action…Sometimes I ask myself, does such a love exist? Can it exist?”

Zeryn drags a hand through her hair, upsetting it from its careful clasps. She glances over the camp, noticing Alistair nearby for the first time with surprise. He glances away when he sees her looking at him, face expressionless. She wonders what he’s thinking.

“Few loves are so powerful,” Zeryn says soberly, her eyes on Alistair, before she looks back to Leliana.

“I think I would be lucky to experience an emotion even half as pure and true as Alindra’s love,” Leliana muses, looking back up at the stars.

“We should all be so lucky,” Zeryn says quietly, and then pitches her voice louder to add, “And if we were, we’d better do a damned sight better at taking care of that love, rather than leaving it to the capricious whims of the human gods.”

“The world gets lonely too quickly if there is no one to share it with, that much is true. Still, I like to think perhaps the Maker does smile on some people, to give them such great loves. Perhaps that love should not be left to chance, but that does not mean it is not blessed by the gods,” Leliana says.

“I like the idea of a love that endures everything thrown at it,” Zeryn says, “but I have a problem with the responsibility for that love being in someone else’s hands but my own.”

Leliana looks her over with sharp eyes and smiles.

“You would be one to fight for love, I think. I admire that about you,” Leliana says.

Zeryn shifts slightly, and gives Leliana a scrutinizing look in an attempt to determine the motivation behind this statement. “Um. Thanks, Leliana,” she says after a moment.

The bard pats Zeryn on her thigh and gets to her feet.

“You are very welcome, Zeryn. For now, I should get some sleep.”

“Yes, of course,” Zeryn says, watching Leliana walk off to her tent with a befuddled expression.

After a moment, Alistair moves around the fire and sits down again on the ground beside Zeryn.

“So…it seems like the two of you have become quite…friendly,” he says abruptly.

“I suppose we have,” Zeryn says, glancing at him. She picks at the ground again.

“Yes. Well. How nice. For the two of you, I mean.”

“It is nice to have a friend.” Zeryn gnaws on her lower lip, suddenly very aware of the proximity between their two bodies, reminded yet again of how ridiculously tiny she feels next to his broad frame. She straightens, throws an arm over the log behind her, and tries to fill up as much space as possible.

Beside her, Alistair has been saying something that ends with, “…a friend, yeah. Of course it is.”

“Mm-hmm,” she answers nonchalantly, hoping that’s an acceptable response to whatever he just said. She tries to think of a topic of conversation quickly to make up for her lapse of concentration. _Was not thinking about his shoulders, nope, nothing to see here_ , she thinks. “So! I have a question,” she blurts out.

“Yeees?” Alistair asks with a smirk and a raised brow.

“Have you ever…” she makes a broad and immensely vague hand gesture at his whole body. “…with anyone? You know?” _Andraste’s flaming knickers, did you really just say what I think you said?_ Zeryn blushes.  
Alistair looks thoroughly confused. “Never…? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?”

“Sex?” Zeryn asks in a matter-of-fact tone and tries to shove down the flush she can now feel rising up her neck.

“Oh, so that’s what we’re talking about,” Alistair says in understanding. “I admit I’ve never had a woman just…come out and ask me like this, that’s for sure.”

Zeryn shrugs one shoulder, managing a straight face while keeping up an internal monologue of _Zeryn Brosca, you idiotic, stinking, nug-humping fool of a duster, you’ve gone and done it now, you have. Really, you shouldn’t even be allowed to talk to beautiful men, you…_

“I, myself, never had the pleasure,” Alistair says, drawing out all the vowels in the word ‘pleasure’ enough to interrupt Zeryn’s thoughts. She tries (and fails) not to snicker at him, and then realizes what he just said as he continues, “Not that I haven’t thought about it, of course, but… you know.” He shrugs.

“Wait…” she says, looking at him in shock, all thoughts silenced. “You’re a _virgin_?”

“Well, living in the Chantry is…not exactly a life for rambunctious boys,” Alistair says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That’s not so bad, is it?” He shoots her a questioning glance.

“But…” Zeryn protests, chewing on her lip and trying to process this. “How can you…wait. Did you just say…?” Alistair raises both eyebrows and under the scrutiny of his warm eyes, she barely manages ask, in a tiny voice, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“I…did I say beautiful?” He puts his hand back to his neck, looks away, looks back, asks, “Do you…have any particular opinion on my saying that?”

This time, there’s no stopping the full-body blush that turns Zeryn’s skin the color of Rica’s hair. She doesn’t look Alistair in the eye as she says,

“I might like hearing it. From you.”

“Then I’ll have to think of something more provocative next time, won’t I?” Alistair smirks at her and Zeryn hauls off and punches him bodily in the arm. “Ow!” he protests, wincing. “That’s gonna leave a bruise!” He rubs at the spot gingerly.

“Oh boo-hoo. A bruise. Like the darkspawn don’t leave worse than that.” Zeryn says, giving him her best unsympathetic face.

“Yeah, but I can sense the darkspawn coming. At least there’s some warning. You, though… beware Zeryn, ’cause she’ll strike when you’re least expecting it. Sneak attacks! How utterly unfair.”

“You deserved it,” Zeryn says, unrepentant.

“Maybe I did, maybe I did,” Alistair says, letting loose an exaggerated sigh.

“I still can’t believe you’re a virgin,” she says, studying the ground.

“Why?” Alistair asks, sounding offended. “Is it really so hard to believe that the opportunity just…hasn’t arisen yet? Is that really such a shock? Some people prefer to wait for the right time and place, you know.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just a surprise, that’s all. I don’t…you really never had the chance?” Zeryn looks him in the eyes.

“Oh, believe me, the Sisters take chastity very seriously in the Chantry. So no, I didn’t. There wasn’t ever really anyone that I…that I _wanted_ to sleep with, anyways.”

Zeryn hmphs and turns to the fire. After a moment, she says, “Well, I knew humans were…different, about these things. But I would have expected…um. A lot of women must have been idiots, is all I’m saying.”

“Why, what does that mean?” Alistair asks, studying her with a bemused expression. Zeryn takes a breath, shifts to glance at him.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” she asks, all in a rush, brow creasing.

“Not unless they were asking me for a favor,” Alistair says, sounding puzzled, and then amends, “Well, there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were…not like you.” He hehs and half-chuckles, and then gives Zeryn a searching look. “…why? Is this your way of telling me you think I’m handsome?”

“I think…you’re kind of gorgeous, actually,” Zeryn says, throwing back her shoulders and looking him in the eye. “And frankly I don’t really see how other women haven’t noticed it before.”

Alistair’s eyebrows nearly reach his hairline, at that. He coughs.

“Well, I, uh…thank you. I’m just going to maybe go stand over there, then, and grin and look foolish for a while.” He smirks and leans over to bump shoulders with her.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” she mutters, trying to give him an appropriately scowly face and only succeeding in a wide smile.

There’s a quiet moment as Alistair just watches her and Zeryn shoots sideways glances at him from under her lashes, both trying not to grin like children.

“How’s it different in Orzammar?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence. Zeryn looks confused, so he elaborates. “You said humans…went about sex differently.”

“Oh. Oh.” Zeryn says. “Well, we don’t…worship the Maker. So there’s no all-powerful religious figure looming over us. There’s the ancestors, and the Stone, but that’s it. It’s not like sex is some huge taboo, like it seems to be in human culture - even if you sleep with whoever you want to, you all seem to be very hush-hush about it, like you’re doing something bad, or wrong. I think that’s a religious thing?”

Alistair nods slightly. “Yes, in my experience.”

“Don’t get me wrong, dwarva culture isn’t perfectly uninhibited either. Sex is…mostly for procreation. Children are relatively rare, so the focus is on finding wives who can bear sons. The nobles will take concubines sometimes, so that their chances of having sons are higher. It…provides a helpful way into the higher castes for casteless women who want to be broodmares – they call them ‘noble hunters’. Women who like women, and men who like men are more uncommon. But if you’re a man, or a woman who isn’t explicitly tied to some man – an ugly casteless, like myself – you can basically have sex with whoever you want and no one cares. The only real censoring that goes on is for the purposes of keeping the lineages pure, not because the Maker disapproves or some such nonsense.”

“You’re _not_ ugly, Zeryn,” Alistair says with a frown, and the conviction in his voice warms her.

“To you, maybe,” she says. She touches his cheek, then retracts her hand quickly before he can react or pull away. “You’re the first person to ever tell me that.”

“Well, then. A lot of dwarves must have been idiots, is all I’m saying.” He smirks, and Zeryn colors.

“You’re sweet,” she says.

“So let me be sure I’m understanding you, here,” Alistair says, brow creasing. “Your people basically don’t care about sex, so long as attached women aren’t cheating?”

Zeryn shrugs and nods.

“What was that bit about noble hunters?”

“The only real way to raise your caste, if you’re casteless, is to attract the interest of a noble or warrior, someone from the higher castes, and give them a son. Children inherit the caste of their same-sex parent,” Zeryn explains. “So my sister Rica and I are casteless because our mother was casteless. Rica is the pretty one, so Beraht gave her fancy schooling and clothes and made her into a noble hunter, ‘cause if she was to have a son by a noble, that son would be a noble. And my whole family would be accepted into the nobleman’s house, so the son wasn’t tainted by association. Basically having a son of a noble raises the status of the whole family. It’s…not a perfect system, by any means, but it works for those women it works for, if you want that kind of thing. Rica was good at it. She’d caught the eye of some noble right before I left, or so she said. For her sake, I hope it’s true.”

“Hold on, hold on…who’s Beraht?” Alistair asks, looking only more confused.

Zeryn throws back her head and laughs, fingering the dagger at her belt. “That is a long story and a story for another night. Suffice it to say the bastard’s satisfactorily dead, now.”

“Ookay,” Alistair says, looking curious. He lets the matter drop. “Soo…you didn’t – you weren’t one of these noble hunters, yourself…were you?”

“Me?” Zeryn snorts. “I told you, Alistair, I’m not pretty enough for that kind of thing. Nah, I was just a petty criminal, picking pockets, beating up people Beraht needed beat up, that kind of thing. Less sex, more violence. Much more satisfying. Keeps me from bearing some noble’s babies, too.” She shudders.

“What, you don’t like children?” Alistair asks.

“I just don’t want any,” Zeryn says grimly, “not ever. Any daughter of mine would be casteless, just like me, and I’ll not bring that upon a child. Never.”

Alistair tilts his head, and something…some emotion she can’t quite place, flashes across his face.

“I can understand that,” he says.

“Anyway, it’s not like the odds of my bearing a child are very good anyways, so it’s not something I really have to worry about. Thankfully,” Zeryn says, matter-of-factly. Alistair nods, slowly. “Does that…answer your question?”

“I think so,” he says. “So long as you tell me more about this Beraht fellow at some point.”

“I think I can manage that,” she says with a smile.

Alistair glances over at Sten, who has taken up position on the edge of the camp, and says, “Right, and that’s the cue for my watch to start.”

“I should probably turn in, anyways,” Zeryn says, standing. “Good night, Alistair.”

“Good night, Zeryn,” Alistair says. Zeryn waits half a moment awkwardly, wanting to say something else but not knowing what, before she nods briskly, and walks to her tent. She can feel his gaze on her back the whole way, and she tries to keep her pace normal, tries to hide the way she feels like skipping away from the fire and into her bedroll.


End file.
